Dump
by Freydris
Summary: This is going to sound absolutely insane, but I'm an amnesiac and prophetic thirty-something-year-old person in a six-year-old's body. I'm greatly alarmed. [SI!Sakura]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is an idea dump that probably won't be updated often (like, months in between; just look at my other sh*t). The scenes here are scattered, and the whole thing is more of an experiment than a serious thing. I'm slowly returning to being actively active (yes, there is such a thing as being actively active; before I had been passively active), so baby steps.

And this will probably be my only Author's Note, so yeah.

Here, have an SIOC!Sakura. I don't own anything except the OC.

* * *

**Chapter I **

"Send him in, Doc,"

* * *

The ceiling was pink.

I blinked blearily for a moment before checking again, squinting up to make sure. I wasn't color blind as far as I knew. I've been seeing colors okay.

And I'm pretty sure my ceiling wasn't pink.

I rolled out of the bed that wasn't mine—it was too soft to be—and stumbled into an equally pink carpet, helplessly flailing for a frozen moment before I fell on all fours. The long fringe selvage of the Persian rug had tangled and caught around my bare toes.

My knees ached upon the smacking impact. It was a pretty pathetic sight; one second I had been standing, the next I tensed and fell like some sort of newborn foal.

Hissing, I flopped down and groaned into the velvety rug, right into the big geometric weave of what looked like a diamond. It was embarrassing to be me. Whatever was happening, I hoped there were no hidden cameras installed around the room. I would die of humiliation.

My knees were relieved of the pain by my shift of position, but the chin took their place with the discomfort. My jaw was beginning to ache.

Scowling, I decided that I felt lacking. Like I was missing a limb or two, though I was pretty sure I was physically complete. I wiggled all my fingers and all of my toes. Five digits on each appendage, check!

Despite the room's tremendous size (it was huge), I felt terribly claustrophobic and lost.

Frowning, I looked around me.

For starters, I did not own a closet—I owned two hulking wooden drawers and folded all my clothes.

Second, there were never any full-length mirrors in my room; I had been frightened away from the notion after watching too many horror movies.

Lastly, my little haven never smelled like this, like citrus and fruit. I was asthmatic, and the tiniest scents set me off almost immediately.

Was this a prank?

Had I been kidnapped?

I turned so that I was lying on my back. Something pink strayed into my eyes.

Taking the single strand of pink, I tugged on it in fascination and blanched when my scalp protested.

I looked down on my body, and a scream stuck itself into my throat.

It wasn't mine.

"Sakura-chan," someone—male, forty years old, throat hoarse from laughter, naturally boisterous—called from the outside. His voice was muffled by the wooden door. I could make out his silhouette from the blurry painted glass. His head looked like a star. He was very tall.

_Or maybe_, I realized slowly, horrified, _I was just very short_.

"Sakura-chan," he called again, knocking. I scrambled up and dashed to the mirror, squeezing my cheeks and stretching my skin. Was this a joke? Was I dreaming? I opened my mouth and stared at my tonsils.

My eyes were green.

My hair was pink.

I touched my chest. I was a child. I bent my feet up and touched my toes. They were tiny as f*ck. I pulled the hem of my nightgown up (who wears nightgowns?) and watched my stomach rise and fall.

I smacked my face and felt the resulting sting. I cupped the space between my legs and came up with flat.

I released that scream.

* * *

"Aaaand, he's in. Knew he could do it, brave boy,"

"I hope someone caught that fall on tape. That was just priceless blackmail material, I hope you know."

**End of Chapter I**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

"Let's see how he plays it,"

"I've read through the whole manga with him for three months, Doc. Have a little faith!"

* * *

My name is Haruno Sakura. I am six. My parents are Haruno Mebuki (mother) and Haruno Kizashi (father). We are a small civilian family in a ninja village called Konohagakure no Sato. My father is a genin-turned-carpenter, and my mother does odd jobs here and there. We're not a rich family, but we aren't poor either. Some people call it the middle class.

That is the basic story. That is the truth.

But the truth is a lie.

I'm not Haruno Sakura. I don't know my real name.

I'm not six. I reached a point past fifteen.

It's a contradiction. I am a living, breathing, walking, and talking paradox.

"Sakura-chan, open your mouth!" Kizashi exclaimed, holding a spoon out. Some porridge or another was being served for breakfast. The meal smelled of egg, soy sauce, and seasoning.

I smiled a baffled smile and opened my mouth. "Aah,"

A hand smacked the back of Kizashi's head, and he released the spoon with a yelp. It was only through sheer dumb luck that I already had the thing clenched between my teeth.

"Kizashi!" Mebuki—female, forty-two years old, wrinkles from frowning, made of sterner stuff—scolded, voice sharp. Her green eyes sternly met my father's blue ones. "Sakura is already six years old! You will not spoil our little girl—she's old enough to feed herself!"

As if to prove her point, I took the spoon's handle and scraped off the soup with my tongue and lips, chewing the shredded little meat that were in it. I tasted the onions and pepper and garlic. The spices did well together.

The man with the flower hairstyle turned face me, rubbing his abused head. "Is that true, Sakura-chan?" Kizashi asked seriously. Mebuki muttered under her breath ("Honestly, Kizashi,") and crossed her arms.

I nodded and swallowed. "Yes, uh, Dad." I smiled that confused smile again and dug into my own bowl.

He began weeping. "You're all grown up now!"

I shrugged and swung my short, stubby legs beneath the table. "Wait another seven years and you'll be sobbing hysterically."

"When did she get so smart?" Mebuki wondered out loud.

"She got her smart mouth from you, dear," Kizashi supplied with a grin. Mebuki smirked and wordlessly offered me a second serving. I happily accepted it.

"Speaking about smart," _serious did not go well with Kizashi's face_, I decided while nibbling on the spoon. "Sakura-chan, you're already six years old. Do you know what that means?"

I paused, wide-eyed as I glanced between the two of them. Mebuki busied herself with her own bowl. It was difficult to treat them like parents, not when I wasn't their daughter.

"Uh," I stammered, "I'm only a year or so away from turning seven?"

Kizashi barked out a loud laugh, while my mother sighed. "She's our daughter, alright." She grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Sakura," she continued patiently, "You're only a year from turning seven. But, it also means that you have to go to school."

Oh, that was just it. I had been worried there for a second. "Oh, that," I sighed, shoulders slumping down. "You had me worried there for a second." I told them as much.

"That's not all, dear," Mother chastised, shaking her head. "School is a Big Thing you have to worry about. This is a Very Big Decision." I could imagine her capitalizing the initials of the words she emphasized.

"Why?" I asked, shoveling another spoonful of porridge into my mouth.

She shared a glance with Kizashi and tiredly smiled. "Well, you do know that we live in a ninja village, right?"

"Eh, yep," It was hard not to miss the ninjas dashing from roof to roof. These ninjas—they preferred to be called shinobi or something—made up a good portion of the village, like an army. There were even families whose existence revolved solely on being a ninja. It was pretty weird.

"So, our education system is split into two," Mebuki explained, bringing up two fingers. She brought down the middle finger. "One is for the children who want to be ninja. Anyone can be a ninja, Sakura-chan."

I nodded. Kizashi was a ninja after all, albeit not a very strong one.

She brought down the remaining forefinger. "The second one is for the children who do not want to a ninja; it's called civilian school. For the first two years starting from a child's sixth birthday, the two schools teach the same things—history, math, sciences, language, and all that."

Ah, so there was a two-year testing period. Basically, a child can initially be flexible with his or her decisions; a ninja-child can pull out and transfer to the civilian school without getting behind in the curriculum, and vice versa.

"After the second year mark," Mebuki was saying, "the lessons deviate. The civilian school goes on with history, math, sciences, but this time with specific courses like cooking, medicine, carpentry, or business."

Kizashi interrupted, "The ninja school teaches history still, maths and stuff, but with chakra manipulation," Chakra? What was that? "Weapon-throwing, genjutsu, and some other stuff I can't remember anymore. They get intimate and very specific with ninja history."

"Oh," I replied, looking into my bowl. "That's, uh, cool."

"Which one do you want to enter, Sakura-chan?" Dad asked, sneakily picking out a hard-boiled egg from the soup. Mebuki and I glared at him.

I raised an eyebrow and leaned away from the table. I had stopped swinging my legs. "You two aren't going to decide for me?"

"No," the two answered simultaneously. Mebuki shook her blond head. "We want you to decide for yourself, dear."

That was sort of nice of them.

"That's awesome," I told them with a beaming smile. "But I don't think I'm cut out for the ninja thing."

A sharp pulse throbbed in my head. I winced, but it was gone soon enough. Was I getting phantom headaches now?

"We thought so too," Mebuki agreed readily, breaking out into a relieved smile. Kizashi shrugged and leaned against her side. "You thought so too," he corrected pointedly, raising a pale pink eyebrow at her. He turned to face me with his usual smile. "Maa, we'll see. You still have two years to change your mind, Sakura-chan."

His wife swatted him away, and he whined in response.

I mimicked his carefree shrug. "Okay."

I was Nameless. I was occupying somebody else's body. Where was the real Sakura? Where was my real body? Where was home? Why was I here?

I don't remember a single thing about myself.

I was a blank slate.

Truth or lie, paradox or no paradox. I just knew that I had to keep moving forward, no matter what.

* * *

"Why did he do that? Why did he do that? The avatar is a ninja, an essential character to the whole puzzle! He can't not go to ninja school!"

"Eh, I don't know, don't look at me! He should know it, we've done nothing but study her backstory for the past months! Is he deviating?"

"Shit, shit, I fucking hope not. We need to reestablish contact. Someone hand me the control panel!"

**End of Chapter II**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

"Monitor him closely. I want his responses taken down."

* * *

As Mebuki had said a week prior, school was a Big Thing. Big Things called for New Stuff, apprently including a makeover, new school supplies, and probably a new wardrobe. I didn't really know with women.

Good news was, I had my hair cut.

My now-short hair made my head feel infinitely lighter. The long pink hair was cool, don't get me wrong, but it made things hot and unbearable. I'm assuming I never had long hair in my original body because the heat always fucking got to me, no matter how hard I tried to stand it.

I sighed happily, and shook my head, just to feel the short ends tickle the top back of my neck.

Now this, _this _was familiar.

Mebuki had complained that I looked too much like a boy with the hair cut, because while my face was framed by chest-length hair, the hair on the back of my neck only slightly went past my ears. Kizashi and I defended the semi-bowl cut stubbornly.

It was my rite of passage into school-hood, or whatever people called it, and I genuinely liked it. It was a practical style.

"At least, I make a very handsome boy!" I had exclaimed at some point, fiddling with the thick band of pink strands framing my face.

Mother and Father fell silent.

"She," Father stammered, squinting at me, "does have a point, Mama," He sounded surprised.

Mother sat down and motioned for me to do a twirl. I laughed and obeyed. "Pink is the new black!" I declared mischievously, flashing a peace sign. I had mixed feelings towards the hair-color, but I think I rocked the look. Pink was a manly color.

Mebuki rested her cheek on her hand and smiled worriedly, "Maa, Papa, I never knew pink could look so good on a boy, despite our Sakura, well, being a girl!"

Father recoiled, hurt. I imagined an arrow labeled "Mama's words" pierce through his heart. "You don't like my hair color, Mama?" He wept.

"I always thought it looked a bit off against your tan." was Mother's careless rebuke. Father crumpled.

I belatedly realized I now shared Rock Lee's hair style—well, a less strict version of his, anyway. That was kind of awesome, actually.

My mind stuttered to a halt.

Who was Rock Lee?

Why did I know his (or her) name? How did I know them?

Was (s)he a friend? A boyfriend or a girlfriend? Or, I don't know, a relative? An offspring?

When no flashes of answers hit me-not even a shudder or a pulse-I frustratedly made a mental note of the name.

"Sakura-chan, let's go," Kizashi called, sweeping his arms open and beckoning me to his side. I ambled towards him and let him lift me into his broad shoulders. I clung to his head and pointed towards Mebuki who was exasperatedly waiting for us outside the salon. "Let's go, my amazing steed!"

Kizashi faux neighed and ducked outside, waving goodbye to the parlor-folk. I broke out into a fit of giggles, and Mebuki covered her face. "I'm embarrassed to be seen with you," she admitted to her husband and child.

Father and I high-fived. "Mission success!" We crowed.

"Now you really look like a boy, Sakura," Mebuki sighed, tutting. "Just a few snips of a scissor, and it's like you're a whole other person."

"You have a cute son," a passing elderly commented. Mother smiled and thanked him for his kind words.

"See?" She sighed when he was out of earshot.

"It's a good thing, I think," I comforted her, shrugging my disgustingly small shoulders. "Just imagine the look on everyone's faces when I hit puberty. It'll be an identity crisis, or they'll think you have twin children or something."

The blond cracked out a smile. "She's a Haruno, alright." Mebuki told Kizashi seriously.

Dad just laughed proudly.

"Onwards!" I ordered.

Being a six year old again was refreshing. I felt like I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. All was right in the world.

A flash of black from my peripheral vision caught my attention. It honestly shouldn't have—there were many people with black hair, or black clothing. But I angled my head to the side and peered into the shadows of an old apartment building anyway.

There were two boys sitting by the roof.

Well, _that_ was interesting enough, at least.

I blinked and squinted at their figures, wondering how they got there. That couldn't be safe. What if they fell?

One was older, with neck-length gray hair—male, big brother type, no emotions, tries hard for no emotions, sick, very sick, will probably die in the near future sick, the roots of a tree, the roots of a problem—while the other was younger, with pasty white (like a corpse, HEX code #FFFFFF) skin and contrasting black (#000000) hair—male, young, blank, a sword, ink, with dancing lions.

They wore animal masks.

I frowned. Where did all those flashing notes come from? Sick? What sick? Like cancer-sick? The roots of a problem? And ink? What the hell was a HEX code? How do I know this shit?

As if feeling my gaze, there was a minuscule turn of their necks, just a tiny shift of the angle, and I felt someone meet my eyes.

I momentarily frowned. I was having the time of my life.

But these people weren't. I lived in a ninja village. At least one ninja kills someone everyday. As I sat on my father's shoulders, someone was out there dying, or fighting for his life. There were children my age being taught how to kill.

This world was no different.

_What?_ I asked myself. Where did that thought come from?

I shook away the thoughts and smiled at the masked duo. After a moment, I decided to wave for good measure. "Hey!"

The least I could do was spread the smiles.

The younger one stiffened. The older cocked his head to the side and laughed. He waved back. After much prodding, the younger one began to wave too.

I giggled.

Kizashi hummed and craned his neck up to look at me. "Ne, who are you waving to, Sakura-chan?"

I gave one last wave to the two before answering him. "I saw some animal spirits, Dad." I lied, pushing all the excitement one small body could contain into those words. "They waved back!"

He nodded indulgently. "That was very friendly of them!"

"Stop entertaining your daughter," Mebuki sighed, elbowing Kizashi. She was just short enough that her sharp elbow dug painfully into his ribs.

"Ouch! Eek, Mebuki, stop that!"

"Make me, flower."

Throughout the tiring day, I'm pretty sure we explored most of Konoha. I got to see the Hokage tower—some sort of White House, I guess?—and the Ninja Academy.

We walked past several clan compounds too, and those places were huge as fuck. It was pretty easy to tell who was who, the Yamanakas (or something, we dropped by their flower shop) all had pale blond hair. The Akimichis were not all, well, uh, fat (though most of them were), but generally shared the same meaty-boned structure. They cooked very well, too. Father treated us for lunch in one of their restaurants.

I've walked by hundreds of different people today; besides the animal-mask duo, there were also other animal-mask-wearing people who ninja-dashed from roof to roof. Are they some sort of cult? A secret-agent team? Some sort of army?

I wouldn't be surprised; Konoha _is _after all a military-run village.

I've seen also seen a man with silver hair at one point. But pink sorta took the cake.

Races seemed mixed here, I noted. Despite the Asian tint of the place, there were blonds, blue-eyed children, dark-skinned people, and narrow-eyed civilians. I could see Japanese people, but there were also people who looked distinctively Chinese, and some, Korean. There were people who looked like Americans, and some seemed French. It was odd that we all shared a Japanese-esque culture though.

But I think that's what makes this world special.

Contrary to my age and gender, I let Mebuki and Kizashi do most of the buying instead of actively participating with the choosing. The currency of Konohagakure was not unfamiliar, but only in a way that was purely theoretical, like something I've read about in one book. I opted to just sit back and observe as they paid up in foreign coins.

The coins were big, the smallest about twice the size of my thumbnail. There were five kinds of silver coins, the four working on something I likened to cents: a five, a 10, a 20, and a 50, while the last one was a bit bigger, like the equivalent of one whole: a yen. There were four kinds of gold coins, a two, a five, a 10, and a 20 yen, likened to bills. Dad paid in tinier copper coins, but I couldn't place what they amounted to.

It was troublesome. I could read and write (albeit very slowly) in their language as well, could speak it fluently, but the vernacular felt off.

_It wasn't my original language,_ I hypothesized, crossing my arms. If that was so, what had been my original language? How come I remember a division between people (American, Japanese, French, etc.) but not know my own language? Did it have something to do with this world's default common tongue? If I tried, can I still speak my own dialect?

So many questions, and close to nil answers. I had my work cut out for me.

"'Ey, why is your 'air pfink?"

I sighed and stretched my feet thoughtfully. Thank God I had years to figure them out.

"'Ey! Huh-ey! I'm talking to you!"

Startled by the loud voice that saw it fit to scream right next to my ear, I squeaked and recoiled, looking up to meet two huge eyes that were suddenly so so close.

They were a very pretty shade of blue.

Blinking rapidly, I recovered and raised my chin carefully, so that I don't accidentally headbutt him. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" I stuttered, looking around.

The stranger was a little boy—a fox, maelstrom, food, noodles, a promise of a lifetime—who was about my age. He had wild blond hair, and as noted earlier, stunning blue eyes. What caught my attention was the whisker-like scars that marked both his cheeks. Those couldn't be natural, could they?

He snorted and grinned lopsidedly, squatting down to rest his legs. I tried to see if his parents were around. "Is there anyone else with pink 'air 'ere?" He guffawed, as if he were talking about something really funny.

I closed my eyes briefly, praying for patience. Somehow the sight of a child annoyed me.

"Heeeh-air, and heeh-ear," I corrected slowly, straightening my back. "You can't pronounce your h-s very well, can you?"

"Whatever," he scoffed, rolling his eyes like he was talking someone dumb. I wrinkled my nose. "Just answer my question! It's weird to see a dude with pink," he scrunched his nose up and blew out a loud gust of air, and I actually felt his breath tickle my face, "heeeh-air."

It was so weird it startled a laugh out of me. "I could say likewise," I smiled, pointing to his face. The irritation lessened. "You have whisker-like scars. Are you a half-kitty?"

"Lion," he corrected slowly, and I decided I liked him.

"That's cool," I chirped, tilting my head to the side. Before I could start talking about why my hair was pink (genes), a street vendor stormed over and whacked the boy upside the head. The old lady snarled.

"You leave that poor boy alone, you monster! You're disturbing the peace!" She screeched. Faintly, I heard the boy snarl something back.

Startled, I inched away and looked between the quarrelling duo. "H-hey," I tried to interrupt.

"I wasn't doin' nofing!" The blond shouted vehemently, on the defensive. His eyes were wide and his teeth were bared. He looked ready to bolt. "I was jus' talking to 'im, that's all, you crazy ol' goose!"

I laughed nervously and called his attenion, "H-Hey, tough guy," I began quietly, "I don't think you should provoke her-"

"See?" He howled, gesturing to me wildly. There was something excited in his voice that surprised me. "We want nofing of yer inter-interrup-"

"Interruptions." I finished for him.

"Yeah!"

The noise attracted my parents' attention. They turned their heads to look at where they had left me, sitting on top of one of the crates, and paled drastically. Mother abandoned her purchases and almost dashed to my side.

She lifted me up by the armpits and tucked me against her side. "Sakura, get away from there!" She whispered.

"Huh?" I clung to her shoulders, confused, but there was something in her expression that stopped me from asking why. I clamped my mouth shut and merely held on, sparing one last look at the blond boy. I hadn't been able to explain heredity to him.

He was already gone.

_Jeez_, a peeved part of me groaned. What was the deal? Something like that qualified for cruelty.

"Is everything alright, Ma'am?"

Mebuki turned and the both of us faced a tall, dark-haired man. He had a red-colored fan print on the right of his sleeve. Something about him made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was the eyebags.

He hadn't been in the vicinity two seconds ago.

Mebuki smiled weakly, shaking her head. "Yes, yes, it was just, oh," she gestured to the grumbling old woman. "I had been alarmed there, for a second."

Well, she was right to be alarmed. The old bat sprung up like a trap out of nowhere!

He looked at us for a moment longer before inclining his head and walking past us, addressing the old woman who defended her actions vehemently.

"Who was that?" I asked my mother in a whisper, drowning out the woman's raspy ranting.

Mother adjusted her grip on me and began to walk towards a worried Kizashi. "The police, Sakura. Pay it no mind." Her smile was forced, and there was a tendril of fear in her voice.

I frowned. I had been refering to the little blond boy, and she knew it. Mebuki was being deliberately obtuse.

What was going on? What had just happened to cause this much of a mess?

"Okay," I replied faintly, frowning. I wasn't going to get any answers from her, it seemed.

Kizashi took me from her arms and showed me a new set of clothes fresh from the hanger. "Hey, Sakura-chan, what do you think of these?" He was trying to distract me.

I sighed and took the bait anyway. "Is that a dress?" I asked, wrinkling my nose. "You've got to be kidding me." I wiggled out of his arms and drifted over to another store, pointing at a high-collared red shirt that looked infinitely better. "I'd look better in this and some good old fashioned pants."

Both he and Mebuki frowned.

I stuck my tongue out. "That dress is just asking for someone to look up my skirt."

"The red shirt and pants it is!" Dad exclaimed quickly, tossing the clothes back to where he got them from.

"Don't worry, Mom," I comforted Mebuki, who only shook her head. "I'm sure the two of us can go dress-shopping some other time."

Despite their best efforts, I took note of the blond and the incident anyway. And I would remember it for a long long time.

* * *

"Preposterous! He's letting all the variables pass him by! And why the fuck did he have his hair cut that short? The avatar shouldn't have short hair until the end of the first season, let alone look like a boy! Don't get me started on the qipao!"

"I don't know why he's doing that! He's trained for the part; he should know what he's doing!"

"Why is he creating such a mess?"

**End of Chapter Three**


	4. Chapter 4

Civilian school began two weeks after the indelible shopping spree.

And honestly? It was okay: the tuition fee was fair, the faculty and staff seemed nice, and the building and school grounds were overall satisfactory.

The Civilian School (or just School since Academy only referred to the Ninja Academy) wasn't as large as its ninja counterpart (which was sponsored by ninja clans, explaining its size and grandeur), but it was placed in a quieter location that made going to it everyday a charming experience. Some private parties and alumni donated once in a while (i.e., the white boards, the fence, the P.E. equipment, etc.). The best part was the air-conditioned classrooms.

Apparently, the Fire Daimyo's wife, a Madam Shijimi, had graduated from the school in her younger years. She flaunts her wealth by donating random shit every now and then. Random shit apparently included enough air-conditioning to keep even the hallways cool.

I don't know why the prospect of air-conditioning excited me so much, but a part of me almost melted in ecstasy when the examination proctor ushered me into a cool ass room to take the entrance test. It was sublime. I spent most of the three hours giggling and fawning at the temperature, never mind the exam.

I was okay with the school. Mebuki and Kizashi had been surprised by my lack of anxiety regarding it at all.

The first week in had been pretty dull. "Hello, my name is Haruno Sakura," and "I am six years old," and "Yes, my hair color is natural," Lather, rinse, repeat. What officially amused me was the fact that everyone (besides the teachers who probably read my file) seemed hesitant to call me a girl, like they were afraid they'd offend me if I were a boy.

Well, if I were a boy, I would be offended, but that wasn't the case. My most used statement became, "Just because I have pink hair and green eyes and a girly name, you assume I'm a girl? That's dumb."

When classes officially began, I found that I performed well in Math. It was probably the only subject I did well on. Considering, I understood the other subjects pretty easily too, but the lessons required reading and writing, and those two came to me slowly, in a snail's pace. I only scraped by through sheer will when it came to problem solving in Mathematics.

"Another perfect one-hundred, Sakura-chan," the teacher was saying, returning to me the test paper. I accepted it without much preamble and surveyed the questions.

18 + 35 = 53. Check.

87 – 39 = 48. Check.

In the blank provided, write O if the number is odd. Write E if the number is even. 205? O. 739? O. 324? E. 111? O. Check. Check. Check. Check.

What odd number comes before a) 195? 193. b) 479? 477. c) 823? 821. Check. Check. Check.

Look for the missing number. Write if it is an addend or a sum. A check and a star.

BONUS Question: Anko has to walk 500 kilometers to go to work. If she can teleport 10 kilometers, how many teleporting trips does she have to make?

Required: The number of teleporting trips Anko has to make.

Given: She has to go to work 500 kilometers away. Her teleporting range covers 10 kilometers per teleport.

Solution: 500/10, but repeated subtraction and counting the number of 10s can work too (500 – 10 – 10 – 10... = 0)

Answer: Anko has to make 50 teleporting trips. P.S. Such a large number of consecutive teleports from one place to another is a drain to her energy and chakra. It is recommended that she rest a certain number of minutes every five teleports, depending on the rate her chakra reserves can recover. Furthermore, such a long distance to travel everyday is tedious. Anko should find an apartment closer to her job, or drop it altogether. She is losing an uncomfortable amount of resources simply in the going to her job.

Check. Such a smart answer, Sakura-chan! I'll make sure to tell that to Anko-san! (:-D)

Who was I kidding? The curriculum was not okay. The lessons annoyed me. But what could I do? I was a six year old little girl. A gut feeling told me that standing out as a genius would be a bad idea. And when I review it, it _is_ a bad idea for a countless number of reasons. In a military country, being a genius was bad news.

"Now that you have sufficiently mastered your numbers, not to mention addition and subtraction," the teacher began after the children's grumbling finally died down, "We'll move on to multiplication!" Oh, joy.

"Everyone will have to memorize the multiplication table I will be handing out. For your performance output, you will all be reciting the multiples—find out what this is—of one to ten. Understand?"

"Yes, teacher!" the class chorused, myself included.

"Anyone who gets this perfect will be exempted from the final exam." Bingo. "Get one and pass, and while you're looking at your copy, can anyone given an example of the recital you'll be having? Anyone who studied in advance?"

Several eyes surreptitiously glanced my way. I pretended to look out of the window.

"Haruno-san can, sensei!" Someone called, and just like that, the flare of irritation that made itself known once before—with that blond boy from the shopping trip—returned with a vengeance. My jaw tensed.

I usually had patience for everything, but children did nothing but make my blood boil. I don't know why.

The teacher seemed to sense my ire because she laughed and shook her head. "Now now, we can't always have Sakura answering everything."

"But her forehead's so big, meaning she has a big brain! Wouldn't that beat the purpose of her forehead if she doesn't know this?" Jou, the son of some merchant or another, piped up, grinning.

A handful of people snickered.

My hand shot up. Half-heartedly, the teacher whose name escaped my memory called on me.

"Because you are such an annoying little dry-skinned pimple, Jou-san," I hissed, standing up, "I will recite and save you the trouble of enviously irritating the life out of me today. Know that I can begin with the multiples of one, five, and ten for the least difficulty, but instead, I will begin with nine to represent the nine symbolic times I will whoop your sorry fat butt after this."

The teacher was regarding me with a funny, surprised look (like someone had slapped her with a fish or something), but I didn't dwell on it too much. "S-Sakura-chan," she began, cringing, "N-now, let's not-"

"Nine times zero is zero. Nine times one is equal to nine." I practically snarled, glaring at Jou. "Nine times two equals eighteen."

I took one step away from my table. "Nine times three is equal to twenty-seven." I took another step, facing his direction. "Nine times four is thirty-six,"

"O-Oi," Jou stammered, looking at me with wide-eyes. "Teacher, she's moving away! N-no walking around the classroom during c-class hours!"

"Nine times five is equal to forty-five. Nine times six is equal to fifty-four."

"You better start running, Jou," someone cackled from the back. The teacher stepped down from the platform and tried to defuse the situation. "Everyone-"

"Nine times seven is equal to sixty-three," I growled.

"Sakura-chan!" came the teacher's exasperated chastisement, her head snapping towards my moving form.

"Nine times eight," the class chorused, and I finished for them, "is seventy-two."

"Nine times nine," I stopped just shy of Jou's desk. "Is eighty-one."

"Sakura-chan, please return to your seat." The teacher ordered firmly, lips pursed.

I contemplated listening to her, but it would be such a waste when I've already built so much tension for the climax. "Sorry, sensei. Nine times ten is ninety."

Jou scrambled out of his seat and sprinted out of the room, screaming. I gave chase.

The whole class roared in approval from behind us.

I got to whoop Jou's sorry butt nine times (three pinches, two slaps, and four kicks; I was a blooming pervert) after four laps around the entire campus, dragging down his pants and his underwear so I could hit skin to skin, and was given holy retribution for it.

In other words, detention.

I had expected the punishment already-it's kind of hard not to when the teacher's towering over you with a thunderous expression while the security guards keep you and your prey apart-but still, I couldn't help the childish surge of anger and hatred that brimmed and boiled at the bottom of my stomach, trying to fight its way out via tantrum of all tantrums.

"I am very disappointed in you, Sakura-chan," the teacher reprimanded with her hands on her hips, looking down at me. The very top of my pink head only reached her waist, and she was short, even for a woman.

I bowed my head and rolled my eyes rebelliously, but pushed some sincerity into my voice. I _had been_ out of line, Jou having deserved it or not. "I apologize for my actions, teacher." I said, frowning, "I will accept whatever punishment you have for me."

She looked at me for a moment longer before sighing and handing me a mop and a bucket. "You will be cleaning up the toilets with another detentionee. We've contacted your parents to let them know you'll be going home late."

Oh shit. Mebuki's going to be so mad.

Teacher led me to the restrooms, and told me not to try anything funny. Not that I had been planning to, of course. I've had enough action for one day. Promising to pick me up when the hour was done, she walked away, shaking her head.

Frowning, I picked up the bucket and entered the restroom, grimacing in disgust. I hated cleaning bathrooms.

After a moment, the familiarity hit me, and I filed away the revulsion. I must have cleaned a lot of toilets in my original body. The irony struck me, and I laughed.

"Who's there?" A voice asked, and I abruptly stopped laughing, fearing I had disturbed someone. One of the tall stall doors opened, and a boy walked out, holding a mop similar to mine. He and I stared at each other in surprise, before I cleared my throat and averted my eyes from his eyebrows.

His very thick eyebrows. Not to mention his round eyes. And his prominent lower lashes.

I coughed into my fist. "Ah, I will be helping you clean the stalls this afternoon, senpai." He was older than me, that much was obvious. I hadn't seen him around my class, and he was too tall to be a six-year-old boy.

He grinned jovially. "That's nice. My name's Rock Lee!" He offered a dirty hand.

Ah, so this was the Rock Lee! I pulled out the name from my memory bank and remember that I had associated him with my hair.

For several moments, I inspected him and frowned, confused. I thought he would have a bowl-cut hairstyle as my flashing memories led me to believe. Seems like I was wrong. Unconsciously, my hands drifted up to pat my pink hair. His dark hair was longer, and it was fastened in a braid. Our hair cuts looked nothing alike. He looked Chinese.

Smiling, I finally shook his hand. "Haruno Sakura." I introduced simply, rocking on my heels back and forth.

He snatched his hand out of mine. "Oh!" He exclaimed, flushing, wiping his palms discreetly. "A lady! You-you shouldn't, ah," he looked around the dirty room, "Why don't you sit there and let me handle the cleaning? You'll only get dirty."

"Rock-san," that sounded weird, "I am here because I did something wrong, and it would be wronger if I let you deal with my punishment." I scolded with a frown.

After a beat, I scowled. "And, just because I have pink hair and a girly name, you automatically assume I'm a girl?"

He paused and looked at me. He turned red, this time from embarrassment. "Ah, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that, err,"

"Yesh," I agreed. "I know I look very girly. It's kind of humiliating, really."

"You look great, don't worry!" He soothed nervously, "Pink is a, is a," he searched for a word.

A word popped into my mind. "Youthful?" I chuckled.

He smiled. "Yeah! Pink is a youthful color." Why oh why did I want to laugh?

Luckily for the part of me that wanted to barf at the sight of such a dirty place, Rock Lee had already cleaned most of the stalls. Together, we cleared out the rest of the grime and mud, filling the silence with small talk.

"You're an orphan?" I asked, tossing a dirty rag into the trashcan. It had been beyond saving. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Rock Lee said, scrubbing at the toilet's lid. I gagged, just imagining the amount of germs in that place. "I've never really met my parents. But I know a few people who knew them. I know my dad's a blacksmith, so I'm going to be like him someday!" He flashed me a boyish grin.

"Really?" Talking with someone older than me did a lot for my patience. The prospect of talking to children didn't seem as bad as before.

I thought of my own parents, and realized that I couldn't say I wanted to have either of their jobs. Mebuki didn't have a permanent one, and Dad's carpentry didn't really suit these small hands. "Well, um," I guess it was time to throw out what other children usually said, "I'm going to be a doctor? I think?"

My head pulsed in pain. Fluttering my eyelashes close and grimacing, I paused long enough to let it fade and continued moving when it was gone.

Rock Lee raised a bushy eyebrow. "Doctors delve into chakra, you know."

Ah, chakra. The closest thing I could compare it to was magic. Civilian school didn't really get into detail with it, but I was planning to remedy my ignorance with a couple of trips to the village library. I had a feeling it was that warm, foreign thing that thrummed in veins along with my blood.

"Mmhm. I'll think of something else when I'm older, then."

It was nice to have an intelligent conversation with someone else. I was almost disappointed to leave when the teacher came to collect me. I got the verbal beating of my life from Mebuki, but I couldn't say I regretted it.

I saw Rock Lee a few more times that school year, but we didn't really become close friends. I guess it had somehing to do with the age division and such. Our paths didn't cross as much as I would have liked.

When I moved on to the next school year, I tried to ask around for him. His teacher told me the orphanage had to pull him out. His savings, which were what the orphanage and the government could provide, were dwindling, so they had to put him in the Ninja Academy which offered free schooling for orphans.

I was disappointed by the prospect. The Ninja Academy was all the way on the other side of town. I was probably never going to see him again.

I guess he wasn't really meant to be a blacksmith.


	5. Chapter 5

The second year of grade school found me with a total number of two-hundred and ten acquaintances, give or take. I enjoyed conversing with about three or four of that impressive two-hundred and ten.

(Allow me to remind you that these were seven-year-olds I was interacting with regularly. I may have forgotten how old I originally was, but I am willing to bet a limb that it was certainly above the kiddy-line. One could only take so much of playing pretend as the Prince of the Enchanted Cherry Blossom Fairy Kingdom, or using dead twigs to have mock sword fights "to the death!")

One interesting thing was this: you wouldn't believe it, but I became part of the popular group. Heck, even_ I _wouldn't believe it. Seven-year-olds shouldn't have popular cliques or groups or segregations, but much to my consternation, they _had_.

And I was, for reasons unknown, part of the famous, well-liked sector.

Was it the pink hair? The green eyes? The apparent conundrum that was my gender?

("Sakura-kun!" One of the older girls called, and I obligingly trotted towards their gathered gaggle below the _Syringa reticulata_, commonly known as the Tree Lily. They giggled and told me to sit down, and they cooed, and shared chips, and wove lilacs into my pink hair.

"You're a very handsome young boy, Sakura-kun! Such a sweetie, too! Do you want to play? You'll be the prince of the Enchanted Cherry Blossom Fairy Kingdom, and I'll be the princess. You have to save me, okay?"

"Hey! No fair! I wanted to be Sakura-kun's princess!"

"You can be my handmaiden, don't you worry."

I stood up and excused myself, bullshitting something about errands to run for the cafeteria lady.)

School was school. I had recitations, and performance outputs. We, at some point, had to act out a Good Samaritan story as part of the semester's requirements. I was designated the narrator.

("And he helped the beggar child up, and gave him free ramen. The end." I recited, trying not to feel too embarrassed. By my sudden irritability and the overwhelming need to hide away and never resurface, I guessed that I wasn't being very successful.

"...Was that all from memory, Haruno-kun?" The teacher asked once my group left the stage and the next one was preparing for their performance.

I had improvised the lines half the time (it wasn't like anybody knew what my portion of the script contained) lazily. So I lied. "I asked my mother to read the script to me every night, so I remembered a lot. Was I good, sensei?"

She smiled and gave me two thumbs up, awkwardly pinning the clipboard down with her chin. "Very. Keep up the good work!")

Some of the teachers were a chore to listen to.

I"Next year you are going to learn about the regions of the continent, which is the really big piece of land we are standing on right now. Everybody look at the ground. This is part of the continent." The Social Science instructor was saying. The class "ooh-ed" and "aah-ed."

"But for this year, you are going to learn about Konoha, and how to love our home." He continued, clearing his throat. "Alright. Can anyone tell me the word we use for 'love of your country'?"

The person beside me flipped open a dictionary and furiously began to look through the meanings. How she hoped to find a proper word in something that thick baffled me.

I raised my hand. "Patriotism, sensei."

"Wow! Very good, Haruno-kun. Since Haruno-kun here gave the correct answer, here's a prize. A lollipop!"

My seatmate shot me a glare and shut her dictionary angrily. I accepted the candy and nodded indulgently when the teacher told me to wait until later to eat it. Oh my God.)

And as always, there were tests-

("Five minutes left. Please prepare to pass your papers." The exam proctor called.

I rapidly reread my Japanese History examination paper and checked each carefully written Japanese character. There was an essay in the last portion. An essay. I was dead.

Was there supposed to be a third line to that word? I always get that mixed up with the other one!)

-and more tests-

("Haruno-kun, wake up."

I startled awake, and checked to see if I had drooled on my Math exam. To my relief, I hadn't. I looked up and sheepishly grinned at the proctor. "I'm sorry. Is it time to pass the papers?" I asked.

He looked around the room of furiously solving students, and sighed. "Alright. You may pass your paper in advance. Please refrain from sleeping next time.")

-and around the middle of the second semester, I was made aware that apparently—and I mean _apparently—_we had a rivalry with the Ninja Academy students.

I tried not to make a face throughout the complete explanation.

(There had been an informal orientation about the interesting relationship between the two respected institutions. The event was held in an audio-visual room, and there were foldable seats, and air-con set on 20 degrees Celsius, and manila paper. The students who facilitated the lecture were all senior students, 12-year-olds, and the school's assistant principal was supervising it the whole time.)

I mean, how stupid was that?

Not only was it dangerous (they were taught how to beat someone up; they could most probably whoop our asses in a second flat), but it was also a waste of time. What did the rivalry have to prove? The two schools taught completely different subjects—the only common ground was the lessons on history and math and such, and wasn't it beneath the ninja kids (that sounds silly, doesn't it? "Ninja kids"?) to compete about such things? I would have thought they would be more obsessed with training themselves or something.

But still, I amended reluctantly. I guess it was only natural for the two schools to have some friction. The children did belong to the same generation, and I had to admit: the ninja kids had a fucking annoying superiority complex.

(You should see them during festivals. There was a clear division line between the civilians and the shinobi.)

So when one of the upperclassmen took my wrist and dragged me to the village park during lunch break, I did not protest. Much.

"Why?" I whined, pouting up at him. His name was Ren, and he was ten years old.

He glanced back at me and scowled. "Grow a pair, pinkie. Do you want to prove these buttheads that you're better or not?"

"No, actually." I told him honestly, sighing. He ignored me, of course.

The village park came into view, and I caught sight of a hoard of girls crowding a smaller number of boys. There were adults giving the group amused looks, but one in particular caught my attention. I reared my head back and blinked at him, but he didn't see me, more focused on keeping an eye out on the ninja kids.

He was sitting on a tree, hidden from view, but from this vantage, I caught a glimpse of his dark head.

I didn't have much time to ponder why he was on the tree (a pedophile?) because Ren shoved me into the field. The girls' chatter quietened.

"What subject?" One of the boys asked quietly. His dark hair stuck up in a way that looked like trimmed grass.

"Math," Ren crowed confidently. I gave him a side glance and shoved my hands into my pockets, rubbing the wrist he had gripped.

The ninja boy who spoke stepped forward. I mirrored his movement, and I felt him appraise me.

"A girl?" He asked. He looked past me and looked at Ren. "You've never brought a girl into the contest before."

"Just because of the pink hair, the green eyes, and the face you automatically assume girl?" Both Ren and I barked. I blinked, surprised. Had I said that so many times the people around me instinctively say it too?

Ren looked at me and blushed, embarrassed. He shook his head. "Never mind Haruno's appearance! Are you scared?"

The boy smirked arrogantly. "You wish."

"I'm terrible at mental math, I just hope you know," I told Ren, who scoffed. "You can do it," he assured me confidently. I scowled. Why couldn't he do it?

"I'm Uchiha Zakari." The boy introduced himself. I didn't get a flash of details, which I did oddly get at odd points in my continuing amnesiac existence, meaning he wasn't an important person, but I knew enough of the prestigious Uchiha clan to know what I was up against. "I'm eleven."

For some reason, I had a dreadful, knowing feeling that he was going to die.

No, not through a math contest, but yeah.

"Haruno Sakura." I bowed. "Seven."

"So you are a girl."

Ren practically howled from behind me. "So girly name equals girl now, huh?" He protested angrily.

Zakari grimaced. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

I shrugged my shoulders and shoved my hands into my pockets, uncertain how to address him. He was like the walking dead. "It's okay." I ended up murmuring.

Another boy—a referee of some sort—stepped between us with a piece of paper. "This is the list of questions both schools we agreed on." He drawled, raising it. "You know the rules: no cheating, meaning no side-glancing or help from the sidelines. The first to answer correctly gets the point. Out of ten questions, the one with the highest point wins. Should there be a tie, the clincher round will be a one-question round, the question being provided by a random stranger."

"I can't believe this," I grumbled, facing Ren. "You guys waste time on this instead of studying?"

"Concentrate, pinkie."

I blew out a heavy sigh and faced Zakari again. He eyed me contemplatively. I smiled warmly in return.

"Alright. Contest proper begins now, blablabla, number one. 573 plus 218."

A beat passed. "Seven, err, seven hundred and ninety-one," I stuttered, only faster by a second. Zakari had been saying the same.

"Point to the Civies." The referee called. Ren cheered, but I ignored him.

"1000 minus 34."

My mind scrambled for the answer. "Nine-hundred and sixty-six!" Zakari exclaimed confidently, just as I stammered, "Nine-hundred and sixty-six?"

"Point to the Academy."

Ren was red in the face. "But he answered the same thing!"

"His intonation rose." The referee said, waving a hand. "That means uncertainty." I bristled.

"25 times 25." Be rid of my memories, but thank God I remembered my squares. "625!" I answered. Zakari gave me a surprised look.

"Point to the Civies."

"Impressive. You sure you're only seven?" Zakari complimented.

"I may be a vertically stunted eleven year old child." I told him seriously. Ren guffawed. "Nah, Haruno's only seven," he reassured the wondering ninja kid, "Pulled him out of his seven-year-old crowd myself."

"You will treat me to lunch." I told him shortly.

"35 more than the 7 times 6 is...?"

Seven times six is forty-two. Plus thirty-five is, "Seventy-seven!" Zakari and I barked.

"Point to two of them."

* * *

"I demand three ice creams of different flavors." I told Ren smugly. The younger (or older) boy didn't look too bothered by the fact that he was going to lose three-quarters of his daily allowance. Bragging rights were apparently more important than lunch money.

Priorities, people. Priorities.

To the surprise of everyone (excluding myself, because you honestly didn't think I'd lose to some kid, right?), I won that competition.

"I knew I could count on you!" Ren exclaimed happily, nudging me none-too-gently. I stumbled to the side and rubbed my ribs, shaking my head.

"Right." I agreed dryly. "Well, I'm not going to go through this again, so you better look for someone else, buster."

Uchiha Zakari, looking disgruntled that he had lost against a seven-year-old, perked up, confused. "You're not?" He asked dubiously, unashamedly interrupting my and Ren's conversation. "You should, Haruno-san. That was the most challenging contest we've had in ages."

"Hey!" Ren protested, growing red.

The Uchiha kid shrugged. "It's true." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You're a pretty smart guy, Haruno-san."

"I'm glad you think so, Uchiha-san." I muttered, bowing formally. "But I don't think I will. I'm often busy helping out my parents, so I don't have much free time."

He sighed. "I guess it can't be helped. Good game, though."

I smiled. "Yes, good game. Now, if you'd excuse me. I have an exam on History. And ice cream to claim."

Zakari nodded. "We should leave, as well. We have a test on Chakra theory."

I don't know why he mentioned it, but it just so happened that I was a little bit interested in chakra. "Chakra theory?" I repeated, curious. I noted that he had picked up a discarded backpack. "Excuse me, but may I see your notes?"

He paused, confused, before he nodded and unzipped his school things. He rifled through some books, a paper bag with some steamed buns, and procured two things—a thick textbook and a notebook. I carefully took them from him and flipped the notebook open first.

Japanese characters stared back at me in clear, neat lines. I tried not to show my dismay. I was probably the slowest learner of the language in my batch, never mind that I could talk like a thirty-year old man. It was something that baffled my instructors, especially since I often had trouble with comprehension.

I pretended to flip through the notebook before I moved on to the book. It would take me a while to decipher these things, I realized, skimming through the pages. I never really made a real effort on learning how to read like a pro. And here it is to bite me in the ass.

"Do you need the textbook?" I asked the boy after another pause.

He grew even more confused. "Um. No, not really. I have everything I need in my notes."

I perked up. "That's cool. Would you mind if I bowered this for the mean time? I promise I'll return it to you in, hm, one week, tops!"

Uchiha Zakari was looking at me strangely, but Ren was impatiently bouncing behind me, glancing at his expensive wristwatch every now and then. Seeing that he was conflicted, I very slowly (so that it would look natural and not desperate) stuck out my bottom lip and widened my green, green eyes.

"Uchiha-san," I whispered breathlessly, ducking to look up at him through my lashes. "Please? I really need this."

The ninja-child began to look distinctly disturbed. "A-Alright. Just drop it off at the Uchiha compound, then. Don't ruin it." He blurted out before snatching his notebook back and stuffing it into his bag urgently. He sped away towards his friends, and I turned around, hiding a victorious smirk.

* * *

Chakra was a lukewarm, tingling feeling that spread through my finger tips at my command. At first it was quite difficult discerning it from the rest of my flesh, but after analyzing the passages from the textbook, I literally got a firm grip of it.

It took me three days to translate the two most important pages concerning basic chakra theory. Usually I would simply ask help from my parents, who were always willing to help their dimwitted daughter along her path to Japanese enlightenment, but Mebuki was sensitive when it came to shinobi-related topics. She and Kizashi often had rows about everything shinobi-related (like when she found him sticking to a wall as he repaired the window to the upstairs attic).

Calm, undisturbed chakra was like a person standing completely still. With the right tug, I found that I could make the chakra jolt, make it reach out to different parts of me. I ignored all the technical terms in the book—I didn't care about the technicalities, per se—and I tried my best to make a habit to exercise my currently meager control. I wasn't very good at it yet, though.

Why was I learning chakra-control, you might wonder?

I wondered about that, too. At first it was a passing fancy. And then it became an urge. It was like an itch waiting to be scratched. And I was a scratching-type of person.

Noon a week after the Math competition (which earned me a proud smile from my Math teacher and a box of chocolate), I found myself in a small town.

Alright, maybe not a small town. But it sure was big enough to be. The Uchiha compound was like a small village inside tall, stone walls. They even had guards stationed by the entrance.

"Good morning." I greeted the two dark-haired, dark-eyed ninja in front of me. It was my first real experience to interact with ninja-folk, and naturally I was curious, though I tried not to let it show. Like with Zakari, I could feel a sense of foreboding death as I tried to meet their eyes despite the height-difference. "I am Haruno Sakura. I'm here to return this book to Uchiha Zakari-san."

The older one smiled. "Good morning to you too, then, Haruno-chan. I'm Uchiha Shozo. Zakari-kun is my nephew. I can take the book for him, if you'd like."

I thought about pulling off that "Just because..." dialogue every time someone assumed my sex, but thought better against it at the last moment. Instead I carefully shook my head and politely rejected his offer. "I apologize, Uchiha-san, but I had promised Zakari-san that I would return the book to him personally." And I couldn't be too sure that Shozo was indeed Zakari's uncle. I wasn't gullible, thank you very much. "If it isn't such a bother, can you lead me to his residence? It won't take very long, I promise."

I knew deflection when I heard it. The Uchiha sure were a private clan. I was just some harmless little girl. Surely they didn't expect me to infiltrate their home and attack them brazenly or anything stupid.

Shozo frowned, shared a look with his fellow guardsman, and relented after what seemed like a wordless conversation. I waited patiently.

"Alright," the man agreed, stepping away from his perch and ushering me inside the compound. "This way, Haruno-chan."

I clutched the book close to my chest and nodded, jogging after him. I wasn't going to attack the Uchiha brazenly. But maybe I was doing a little bit of infiltrating.

* * *

"You have a very nice home," I told a startled Zakari after greeting him and his mother respectfully. Under Shozo's watchful eye, I handed the textbook over and smiled disarmingly. "Thank you again for lending the book to me, Uchiha-san. It was a very enlightening read."

He nodded awkwardly and put it on the center table. "A-Ah, yes. You are welcome. If I may ask, what did you borrow it for?"

I smiled and tilted my head to the side. "Why? Well, I'm rather notorious for my poor use of our native language."

He adopted a skeptical expression. "Are you positive, Haruno-kun? Notorious?"

I wasn't sure if he were asking about my notoriety, or my use of that specific term. So I opted for an ambiguous bob of my head. "The words were read to me. My vocabulary has certainly expanded, though my reading skills need work."

"But must it be a textbook on chakra theory, Haruno-chan?" Shozo asked out of the blue, and his nephew gave him an alarmed look. "Uncle" Zakari cried out suddenly, pale cheeks flushing red. His mother gave him a peculiar stare from where she was mending a plain dark shirt. "Haruno-san is a b-"

I interrupted him smoothly, raising a hand. "I needed a complex source, Uchiha-san. Your nephew was kind enough to provide when I made my humble request. Would you like a demonstration of what I learned?"

Shozo humored me. "Certainly. Let's hear it." He shot his nephew a smirk, and Zakari's mother, in turn, shot her brother (or brother-in-law) an exasperated peek.

I folded my hands on my lap and recited obediently. "Palsy. Labile. Epistaxis. Bradykinesia. Ejaculation. Sexual inter-"

"That's mentioned in the book?" Zakari shouted, dismayed, drowning out the last syllables of my demonstration.

I smiled at him reassuringly. "I only searched the first three words. These are medical terminologies, so I am hoping to look for more advanced textbooks to glean their true meanings."

Shozo cleared his throat. "I don't think you should. How about reading a novel, instead?"

"But textbooks are more verbose."

"I don't think you will need much reading, girl. Even I don't use that word."

"What's going on here?"

I twisted around to face the stairs, and immediately felt like I had been trampled by a hoard of water buffalos. A little boy stared down at me from the top steps, and his eyes were dark, and he was beautiful, and I knew that his eyes would bleed red, and his expression would turn ugly.

It's almost been a year since I got information this big.

Zakari politely waved at the young boy. "Sasuke-kun, hello. This is a friend of mine. You're the same age."

I offered a mechanical flutter of my fingers. "Your brother?" I asked, though I already felt that I knew the answer.

Zakari shook his head. "No. But my mother is babysitting him for the clan head's wife."

"Oh." I uttered intelligently. I tore my gaze away from Sasuke's disinterested (and suspicious) one and bowed. "Anyway, I think I should go. My mother will be looking for me."

My head was pounding. I wanted to leave as soon as possible.


	6. Chapter 6

(Lately, I have noticed that I didn't have a friend.)

* * *

I picked up the bright yellow strap of my bag and hoisted it over my shoulder. It fit snugly, stretching across my back, so I made a mental note to adjust it later on. I had grown a lot from being a pink-haired midget. My arms, not to mention my shoulders, were getting big.

"I'm off to school, Mom, Dad. Enjoy the day!" I called, slipping on the open-toed sandals I had taken to wearing to school most of the days. I tightened the fit and stumbled out of the door. In my haste, I almost walked into a young couple taking a morning stroll through the respectable subdivision.

I sent them a sweet, embarrassed smile, and the girl giggled, making a soft, bird-cooing sound. The boy, grumbling at my untimely interruption, dragged her away insistently, muttering crossly to himself.

"Enjoy your day too, Sakura-chan!" Kizashi called from the dining table, munching on an apple. Mebuki called out something unintelligible but pleasant-sounding from where she was washing the dishes by the sink, so I continued on my way, dodging a cart fully loaded with bitter gourd when I crossed the road.

"Oi! Be a little more careful, Sakura-kun!" The driving farmer shouted exasperatedly, twisting around to reprimand me. The bull pulling the cart released a loud maw, slowly turnings its head as if in agreement.

I cheekily grinned and tipped an imaginary hat to them both. "Will do, Iida-san! Sorry, and good morning!"

His huff was audible even as I scuttled away. "Good morning to you, too, lad!" He shook his head and addressed the bull.

"Imagine that, Toju!" The bull tossed its head and blinked once. "Kids these days." Disgruntled, the farmer began to sing an old, jaunty folk song that began with, _"Day and night, always look left and right_-"

I stifled a smile and faced the sky, admiring the cloudy weather. It was a beautiful day.

"Sakura-kun, good morning!" An old woman croaked as I passed by the little wooden gate that led to her enormous, well-kept garden. The flowers that bloomed in vibrant shades of sea blue and red orange grew past her freshly-installed bamboo fence, and dangled in my way.

I waved at her animatedly and discreetly picked one of the prettier flowers. "Good morning, Obaa-san!"

"Sakura-kun!" Another voice called out, and unbidden, my carefully arranged smile fell. I grunted, feeling a little miffed at being so enthusiastically greeted by one person after the other so early in the morning.

I turned around and summoned up another swet smile for the approaching Uchiha Zakari. Two other Uchihas—one Uchiha Sasuke, and another whose name I didn't know (but I got a flash of bleeding eyes and a river, but I had already learned what to ignore)—trailed after him, caught up in their own single-syllabled conversation.

"Zakari-san." I inclined my head respectfully. He was going to be a genin in a few months. "Good morning. How is your mother?"

"She's alright, thank you for asking." He answered, shrugging. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and glanced at his companions. "You remember Sasuke-kun, right?" He asked inattentively. "He is our patriarch's youngest son." Came the reminder.

The eight-year-old boy in question sent me an inscrutable, superior once-over, and I nodded half-heartedly. "I recall." I assured him in a measured tone. _It was hard not to_, _anyway_, I thought to myself darkly. Not when that boy followed me into my nightmares.

Bleeding red eyes and inhumane wings of skin.

"Good morning, Sasuke-san." I greeted cautiously.

He mumbled a similar greeting, shooting dagger-like looks at me (or my beautiful pink hair, whichever), but Zakari, either not noticing or not caring, motioned to the older Uchiha by his side. "And this is Uchiha Shisui, his cousin."

The older Uchiha grinned, and I blinked, taken aback by the sunny, friendly demeanor he had. The smile almost looked wrong in his face. _But I digress_, I amended dryly. The Uchiha were, after all, only human. I couldn't expect them all to have stony expressions and bleeding eyes.

"Also _your_ cousin," Shisui corrected Zakari pointedly, crossing lean, muscled arms against an equally muscled chest. I wouldn't put him in a rank close to the bulkier wrestlers, but it was easy to see that he was trained. I would have to be blind, deaf, and dump not to realize that he was a ninja.

I suddenly felt severely inadequate compared to the three boys, all of whom I knew received militaristic training practically since birth. I shifted in place and gripped my bag strap.

"However distantly." The shinobi added helpfully.

"I'm not related to you." Zakari shot back with the typical clan stoicism.

Shisui chuckled good-naturedly. His dark eyes gleamed. "You're just in denial." He joked.

"It's nice to meet you." I swiftly interrupted when I noticed that Zakari wasn't too keen on answering that with a witty rebute. I bowed, and thought that for a moment there, they had forgotten that I was present.

Shisui shrugged and sent me an unrepentant twinkle, while his younger cousin had the grace to appear embarrassed. "Are you on your way to school?" I asked out of social necessity, deciding that the topic was safe for ninja-civilian small talk.

"It's village shinobi day," Sasuke piped up, but I purposely looked past him when I turned to his direction, acknowledging him without really acknowledging him. Being in such close proximity around the little boy made my skin crawl. "So we don't have class." He concluded.

"Ah." I said dumbly. I was civilian. I didn't know there was even a shinobi day. Was there a civilian day?

All excuses to avoid school were welcome.

"Maybe we can walk you to yours?" Zakari suggested hopefully, coming to my side. "I wanted to know if you've read the latest chapter of One Kick Man." He had begun to lend me comic books after the mishap with his chakra theory textbook.

That had led to our rather odd relationship now, if you could even call it that. An acquaintanceship, perhaps? It was something to ponder about.

It didn't matter. I shook myself out of my thoughts, and realized that I couldn't exactly refuse his offer. I shrugged helplessly. "I'm not exactly a cripple you have to assist." I voiced out evenly, but I had already begun walking. "And yes, I did read it. I didn't like it."

He perked up. "Me too! I didn't want there to be romantic elements in the book in the first place."

Shisui made a hybrid sound of indignation as he tugged at Sasuke's sleeve ("Don't do that!" The little boy snapped). "Oh man! Why not?" He whined. "The romance was perfectly good. Giryo is a smokin' hot babe!"

"Shisui, you are disgusting." Sasuke commented with childish disdain. I couldn't help the amused smile that sprouted on my face, even if I did subtly inch away from him. I craned my neck to the right, and instead found the older Uchiha looking at me peculiarly as his younger cousin launched into detail.

I wasn't as stealthy as I hoped, it seemed. I straightened my back and gave him a confident nod. "Giryo is," I agreed, "But her existence is completely unnecessary. One Kick Man does not need female motivation to continue saving his village from evil-"

He listened to me speak, and frankly speaking, looked entertained by the end of it. "How old did you say you were again?" He asked curiously.

"I didn't." I refuted without missing a beat.

Shisui grinned.

* * *

"Sakura-chan," Kizashi began one evening, when it was just him and me in the house. Mebuki was out attending a small party between friends, so all my father and I had for that night was hastily-prepared chicken ramen. The ceiling fan's quick whirling drew streaks of dark shadows over my paperwork, and I numbly bit into the sandwich I unashamedly made even after dinner.

(Kizashi wasn't offended. In fact, he asked me to make him a three-layered one.)

I finished writing the report for my group's presentation in Village History—the life and death of the village's hero, the Fourth Hokage, Namizake Minato—and distractedly reached for the checklist I had prepared. I was going to have to tell Jou (the guy whose ass I whooped? Yes, him. We still hated each other) to buy manila paper, and bring black markers. Yumi could draw the man, while I can do most of the reporting.

"Yes, Dad?" I asked distractedly, staring out into the star-lit sky. Cold, evening gust blew into the room, and I half-stood, moving to close the window. My bare feet padded across the wooden floorboards, and the strands of pink hair free from the manly bun my hair was in fluttered and whipped against my cheeks.

He removed the spectacles from the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. "Have you been, ah, playing with your chakra?" He asked, pretending to squint at a passage from his poetry book.

I stilled mid-reach, hands outstretched into the night air. After a moment of thought, I curled my fingers over the window's latch and pulled it close, the hinges shrieking as I tugged it firmly shut. The wind howled outside, and flickers of dark shadows darted past the house, dashing from roof to roof.

"Yes." I answered honestly. "Why?" I asked back, twisting around to give him an unreadable, almost-challenging look.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his forehead creased. Kizashi shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that—well. The abrupt flaring of your chakra signature is distracting. A shinobi approached me the other day concerning that. If it had been your mother that he approached..." he trailed off.

I winced and sat back down. "I see." I muttered. "I'm sorry. I'll be more discreet the next time."

The pink-haired man looked torn at the mention of a "next time". "Right, Sakura-chan." He cleared his throat. "Are you, ah, maybe getting second thoughts about pursuing the civilian school? You only have a year left before you can't turn back."

I waved a hand and picked up the pencil I had put down earlier. "These are just harmless chakra exercises, Dad." I reassured him disinterestedly, biting my lower lip. "I really am not thinking about being a ninja."

He looked disappointed for a moment, before he released a small, defeated smile. Perhaps he had hoped I would continue what he hadn't been able to finish. "Alright." He sighed heavily. "Your uncle will be very disappointed. He feels lonely being the only shinobi Haruno, you know, but if it's your calling, Sakura-chan, then I have no right to force you," he rambled.

I nodded. "I'm sure Uncle will get over it." I answered lightly.

"You know, I think your ninja friends would like it if you joined them, too." Kizashi added.

I paused and stared blankly at the sentence I had been composing on the paper. It read, _the Fourth Hokage has saved dry of lives because of one, revolutionizing technique. _I reached for the eraser and erased the incorrect stroke on the _chi _character. Now, _dry_ read _thousand_. "What ninja friends?" I asked quietly.

For a moment he appeared uncomfortable. "The, ah, the children from the Uchiha clan."

"Ah." I bit my lip and reread my sentences. "We're not friends. We just hang out sometimes." It was the truth. I wasn't about to fool myself into thinking they thought about me as anything more than a civilian.

I pushed myself up and toddled over to him, "Hey, Dad, can you see if I wrote these correctl-"

At that exact moment, I felt something not quite physical rip into my brain, and my words choked off into a mangled shout. Startled by the searing pain that spread towards the front of my skull, I cried out and clutched my head. My homework fluttered off and fell on the ground.

Taken aback, the carpenter dropped his book. It clattered to the floor, pages folding. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my temples into a hand, releasing a long groan.

"Sakura-chan? Sakura-chan!"

"D-Da-ow. My head." It felt like my skull was being split open. I took a shaky breath and gasped weakly, letting out a pained moan. Whimpering, I dug my nails into the skin of my head, leaving moon-shaped prints, and furiously blinked away a sudden rush of hot tears. "Ow, ow, ow. D-Daddy-"

I whined like a beaten dog when larger hands pried my rigid fingers off my head, and cried out when I was lifted by the waist. I felt like vomiting. I thrashed without actually thrashing, and mother's favorite floral vase shattered into a million of fragile pieces.

"Sakura-chan, Sakura, darling-"

There was a knock on the window, insistent and and I dry-heaved, groaning again when a muffled voice asked. "Citizen-san? What is the situation?"

"Shinobi-san!" My father moved suddenly, and I let loose a warbled cry as my stomach rose to my throat. "My daughter, she needs to go to the hosp-"

A strangled squeal left my throat when the throbbing in my head pulsed and throbbed one final time. Unfeeling rushed from my fingertips to my very core. My vision, blurry with tears and sweat, swam before turning completely black.

* * *

"I see the problem. The transition! It erased all his memories-"

"No wonder he deviated-"

"Either way, there's no way to fix hi-"

"End the termination! You! You there! I said, end it, now!"

"But he deviated! We have our orders and-"

"Are you saying it's his fault he became amnes-"

A man slammed against the glass casing of a single capsule. He hit it with his fist and shouted at the capsule's inhabitant. "Stick to Shisui, -!"

* * *

"I want to see her, now!" came the frantic shouts.

An exhausted sigh. "I'm sorry, Haruno-san, but we are already trying our best to-"

A slam. A woman was shrieking. "Kizashi! Kizashi! Where is she?" The sounds of bags being dropped. The woman was crying. I felt a little annoyed. She was so loud. "Where is my daughter?"

"Mebuki, I-"

"Hold on, kid." A hoarse tenor whispered, and I faintly turned my head to face the person clutching my wrist in a death grip. I blearily forced my eyes open, and it hurt, because tears had tried around my lashes.

A bead of sweat rolled off his dark, tousled hair, and fell onto my face. It dripped down my cheek and soiled the bed linen below my head. His face was blurry.

"Ha...?" I breathed out, disturbing the person whose hands hovered beside my numb ears. Warmth immediately engulfed the hurting part of my head, relieving the coiled up pain, and I let out another short, whimpering sigh.

I looked at the person touching my wrist, and the blur sharpened into startling clarity. I flinched. Uchiha Shisui! What was he..?

"She's conscious?" A medic demanded.

Shisui turned his head tiredly and made a half-jerk, half-nod movement. A collective breath of relief came from the group of people working around my prone body, and the insistent touches and urgent examinations calmed. I blinked furiously and tried to ease away from them as they congratulated each other with warm looks and happy smiles, but there was nowhere to go to. I shrunk away the best I could, but they noticed, and then they reached over with their warm, glowing hands and murmured comforting words.

"How old are you again?" Shisui asked all of a sudden, and for a split-second, I hesitated.

"E-Eeeeeight." I answered roughly, finally, biting my tongue and feeling so wrong and too big for this small body. Because of the heaviness of my mouth, I had to force out vowels. "S-Saaame aas Sa-Saasuukeeee-saaan. Aagh." He released my wrists, and I felt myself go limp.

"Uchiha-san!" The nearest doctor scolded, and Shisui snatched my hand back up. I breathed in and closed my eyes.

"W-What are you doing?" I rasped.

"Chakra transplant." He answered tiredly, head drooping forward. "Your reserves were awfully small, and they were attacking your brain, so I had to perform emergency treatment to keep your organs working, and I almost didn't, and Kami-"

"Hooow ooold aare youuu?" I gritted my teeth as I interrupted him.

He blinked. "Nineteen."

"Neever saaved a kiiid be-befooore?" I continued weakly, mustering up a smile. He glared at me irritably, and while I could detect no underlying amusement under the thin, filmy glint in his eyes, I cracked out a smile.

Ah, now he looked like a "proper" Uchiha. I knew he had it in him.

* * *

(Thankfully, I have located a person who seems to be indifferent to my eccentricities. I will attempt to befriend Uchiha Shisui.)

* * *

"You are going to be in so much trouble."

"It doesn't matter. Can't you see? There's a reason he deviated. So we can help him get back on track. See what I did there, with the Uchiha? The man will influence him to want to be ninja."

"Are you sure? - is an unpredictable person."

"It's the best chance we have."


	7. Chapter 7

According to official medical instruction, Uchiha Shisui was not allowed to leave my side for—_at least_—two weeks, and I was not allowed to leave my hospital room for at least three. He was to maintain constant skin-to-skin contact with my person in order to ensure that my chakra system functioned correctly. I wanted to ask the nurses about it—why specifically his chakra and the mechanics to my body's subsequent rejection of any other—but they always shook their heads and patiently told me I wouldn't understand, anyway.

The doctor who headed my operation, some Murakami-sensei, sent a letter of request to the Hokage's office and the Uchiha Police Force regarding the consequential removal of Shisui's name from the mission roster for the amount of time it would take me to recover, considering that he was obligated to play babysitter.

We received approval from both sides approximately five hours after the letters were originally sent.

Mebuki and Kizashi did not protest, even if Mebuki seemed a little torn between displeasure (as for him being a shinobi) and elation (as for him being a shinobi who acted _just in time_); they knew, probably more than I did, that it was Shisui's chakra that kept my organs from failing all at once.

After calming down from their hysterics, my parents tried to thank him with money in compensation for his lost time. He politely refused the monetary reward, offering a weak-willed reply that went along the usual shinobi creed, "duty to the village", so Mebuki (stubbornly) found another way to give him his due.

She "accidentally" let slip to a distant cousin that I had been close to death, and was saved by Uchiha Shisui's quick thinking. The distant cousin was the older brother to someone's wife, whose friend's nephew happened to be dating a writer in Konoha Weekly. When Thursday morning dawned, all of Konoha knew about the incident.

The Hokage Tower released an official statement that sent the Hokage's approval rates skyrocketing, and from what I've read of the newspapers before Shusui embarrassedly tore them from my hands, even the daimyo had praised his quick-thinking, and was arranging a small ceremony to "award" him.

The Uchiha Police Force held a press conference regarding the matter, as well. I watched it all from the small television set I was confined to, Shisui by my side. His face had been unreadable all through out.

Both organizations needed some sort of publicity to connect with the civilian population, and Mebuki had provided them just that. It was almost scary how swiftly a personal incident became a political one.

"It improves their image." I told the air, and Shisui perked up, having almost drifted off to sleep staring at the lamp on my bedside table. I half-turned to him and held his hand. It dwarfed my own, and was a lot rougher than I expected. I reminded myself that he was a professional shinobi. "It makes ninja more approachable. More involved. You're a hero."

Shisui's expression was slightly disgruntled. "But we _are_ involved. Teams go out all the time, in D-rank missions and C-ranks. A-ranks, B-ranks."

"That is true." I conceded, inclining my head. "But nobody cares if three ninjas swept someone's backyard, or cleaned somebody's gurney. Nobody cares if this person escorted that person all the way to Iron, or if that person helped a caravan along this road. The civilians are clients in those cases—you are paid to perform those jobs. It's a transaction—there are monetary exchanges for your services." I explained patiently. "An incident like this one is more personal. It makes the people think, 'If my child is in danger, then I don't have to worry because the ninjas are here, and they will help.' Something like that. You weren't paid to save me, but you did."

He sighed, but chalked it up with a smile. "You oversimplify it."

"It's the easiest way I can make it so that you would understand." I countered without missing a beat.

He made a face. "Hey! I'm hurt." He removed his hand from mine to clutch his chest, as if wounded, and for a split moment, my lungs shuttered. I sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly, tensing up. My hands gripped the sheets below me, and my nails dug into the linen.

His hand returned, and I felt something warm flow from his skin to mine. It wormed its way under the epidermis, and dissolved into the current of chakra my nerves were rejecting. I relaxed, and breathed in deeply, if a little desperately.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, brows furrowing. Shisui appeared uncertain. "I didn't..." He trailed off and bit his lip.

I shrugged dismissively, forgiving him for his inattention. "Don't be sorry. I have to relearn how to support my own organs, otherwise I will die. How will I learn if I am too dependent on your chakra?"

He cocked his head to the side and grinned exasperatedly. "You certainly don't mince your words, do you?"

"And you're really pretty."

"Wha-I beg your pardon?"

I cocked my head to the side. "I thought we were pointing out facts? Your eyelashes are very long, as well."

He blinked, and then Shisui chuckled good-naturedly, resting his chin on his other palm. "If that's the case—your eyelashes are pink."

"My coloring is natural."

"My looks are natural."

"You're really cool."

"I'm a bit too old for you, kid." He teased.

I licked my lips, taken aback. "That's...I apologize. My advances were not sexual in nature." His eyes grew wide. "I really am just pointing out facts."

"I was joking!" He choked out, looking as red as a ripened tomato. It was a little alarming seeing his fair skin change color in under two seconds flat. "Kami, what are you—eight? 'Sexual in nature'? Where the hell-" He coughed, "-ccccckk did you get that from?"

"From Zakari-san's book." I answered point-blank, shaking my head with a careless shrug. I hid a smile. "I must borrow more scrolls and books from the library about this, though." I gestured to the both of us. "It's really fascinating, how no one else's chakra works like yours do just because it got to my chakra system first." I held up a finger and rubbed my cheek. "The nurses won't give me a detailed explanation why, so I guess I must search for the answer on my own and," I blinked when I noticed the faraway look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I must be boring you."

He shook himself out of his stupor and shrugged. "No, it's not that." He reassured me. A part of me felt relieved that I wasn't being dull—well, that he liked me enough not to openly declare how tedious it was to spend time with me. "You're very fascinating. I don't think I've ever seen someone as young as you so well-worded. At least, someone not from a shinobi or a noble clan."

My mood soured.

And here we see a fine example of stationism in the Land of Fire.

"I...see." I looked away. "Of course." _Such impressive talents could only be afforded by shinobi children,_ I wanted to add sarcastically, for some unknown reason feeling terribly defensive, but I held my tongue.

"What...err, what channel would you like to tune in to, Sakura-chan?"

I looked at the television and gave him a helpless look. "I do not watch TV often." I answered honestly.

Shisui tilted his head to the side and began playing with my stubby fingers. I let him. "Oh? What do you do in your free time, then?"

I thought about it and began to wiggle my hand, stabbing softly at his palm with my knuckles. It did nothing but tickle him, judging from the widening smile on his face. Save for that one dark glare I received while I was going 50-50, he really wasn't the type to be broody. I didn't quite know what to think about such an expressive grown-up.

"I read." I finally said, lurching forward to wrap both my hands around his wrist. I began to strangle it, amusing myself by watching his hand flap around. "And when Oka-san isn't around, I do, you know, what the doctors told me not to do anymore." I added.

He had a strangely charmed expression on his face. "You mean, play around with your chakra?"

I shot him a curt glance and grabbed hold of his thumb. I painstakingly began to maneuver our connected hands to compare the size of my hand to the size of his. "I would hardly call it playing." I defended myself. "Playing would insinuate that my decisions and actions weren't measured."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow and wordlessly gestured to my prone state with his nose.

I clenched my jaw and raised my chin. "This incident is an isolated case—an anomaly. It will not occur again."

He repeated what I had said to himself and let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "Ha! I don't get it!" He appraised me and ran his fingers through his hair. "Why aren't you in the Academy? You have so much potential."

"Because I'm not going to be a ninja. Duh." I rolled my eyes as if it were the obvious. I opened my mouth to tease him further, but remembered my manners. We hardly knew each other, so I wasn't allowed some liberties. I shut my jaw with a loud click.

The shinobi gave me an encouraging look, quickly hiding away the conflicted twist of his lips with a smile.

"I recognize that face." He said wisely.

I gave him a blank stare as if to ask 'What face?', and he ruffled my head with his other hand. I freed one hand to straighten my hair into some semblance of decency, leaving the other to curl limply around his bigger wrist.

"You are allowed to express yourself freely, you know, Sakura-chan." He pointed out, but I already knew that. "You're eight years old, not a middle-aged grouch."

I blew some pink hair away from my face and hesitantly forced out what I had been about to say. "Shisui-san can be so dense sometimes."

"Oi!" He mocked another hurt look and pouted. _Oh gosh_, I thought to myself with a discreet swallow. He was really pretty. It was fascinating to have such an attractive companion. I felt like asking him what his secret was—I always got acne whenever I forgot to care for my skin. "Now you're abusing your freedom, Sakura-chan." He, for the lack of a better word, whined.

"Honesty is a good and valued moral trait in all good citizens of Konohagakure." I replied solemnly, mimicking his actions and combing my hair through my own fingers. The strands felt a little greasy. With a small sniff of disgust, I pointed to the remote and reminded him the original point of our conversation. "Since I do not know much about the shows in the television, do you have one you would like to recommend?"

He reached over for the remote and began to flip through the different channels. "I don't think what I would normally recommend is appropriate for someone your age. Fortunately for you, I have a cousin your age, and he tells me all about his favorite TV series. Ever heard of 'The Strife Throne'?"

"In passing." I responded noncommittally. "You mean Sasuke-san, right?"

Shisui smiled and finally found the correct channel. "Yes. I'm glad you remember him!" He exclaimed, looking genuinely pleased with my efforts to remember one name. His smile faltered, and he leaned forward. "Maa, though I remember you not liking him very much. Did he do something to offend you? He does that, sometimes. Comes with being the clanhead's youngest kid, though his older brother would rather keel over and die before intentionally insulting someone as cute as you."

"Oh no." I shook my head. "Sasuke-san did nothing wrong. It's just that..." I thought of an excuse. How ironic—there I was preaching about honesty, and two seconds later I lie. What was I supposed to tell him, though? That that little boy gave me prophetic glimpses of long, long years of suffering and hatred?

Thank you, but no, thank you.

"We did not meet under the best circumstances. He was being babysat, and I apparently woke him up from his nap or something." I shrugged dismissively and faked an unconcerned look. "I don't care, either way."

He seemed to sense my discomfort anyway, and I quietly thought that I was fortunate I could even pull half-convincing acts in front of someone who was trained to sniff out false personalities. The shinobi changed the subject. "What's with that, anyway?"

I blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "What's with what?" I echoed.

"Zakari-kun calls you Sakura-kun," he elaborated. "But you're Sakura-_chan_." He emphasized.

I laughed at that, brightening up. "It's...I had a bad habit of answering neutrally whenever someone asked of my sex. The majority of the population simply decided that the pink hair was misleading and that I were a boy. That's honestly all there is to it. Zakari-san believes that I am male, but his uncle insists that I am a girl, which is correct, but he believes himself correct, either way. The end."

"Quite a tale. Do you like messing with people like that?" Shisui chuckled.

I smiled wryly. "I cannot wait until puberty kicks in."

The shinobi—_ANBU Root_, my mind whispered, and I wondered what that meant—paused and looked at me with genuine surprise. "That's..."

I sent him a secret smile, pressed a finger to my lips, and focused on the TV screen, suppressing a giggle as I felt him continue to watch me.

"Nakasone-sama," the man in the show was saying, "You cannot possibly defeat Miyake-sama! It is folly!"

Another man shook his head seriously. "I must, Sakamoto. For my friends, I must."

I made a sound of discontent. "Can we change the channel?" I requested politely. "I've had enough of this friendship cliches from the fables in Reading class. Do you know what channel, ano," what show did Kizashi watch again? "Shows 'Battle of Lost Brothers?"

The dark-haired man raised the remote in his hands. "I thought you didn't watch TV."

"I watch my parents watch TV." I explained to him patiently.

"Well—I must warn you; it's a little bloody."

"So is menstruation, but I will be dealing with that in about five or so years." I rebuked quickly. A strange noise left his throat, and in my head, I cackled.

* * *

Mebuki arrived at half past four in the afternoon, bringing her homemade dinner. She opened the door slowly, carefully balancing a warm pot of what I hoped was egg-soup (which I deemed the perfect sick food), and called out, "Hello, Sakura-chan!" Her voice was tired but bright, and I was very happy that she had come to visit. While she and Kizashi wanted to stay with me night and day, they still had jobs to do to pay my hospital fee.

Shisui was, in other words, a glorified babysitter slash life support.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Uchiha-san." The golden-haired woman added after a pause, remembering that I had company. She succeeded in finally pushing the door open with her sandaled foot, and it swung wide open, the knob knocking against the wall. My mother muttered a small "oops" as a passing nurse reminded her to maintain the silence.

"Oka-san!" I piped up, finally tearing my gaze away from Shisui, who tore his gaze away from the TV. He quickly shut it off, preventing my mother from seeing a rather intense scene between the "Battle of Lost Brothers"'s main characters. I had been pleased to note that they were playing re-runs of the whole series.

"Good afternoon to you too, Haruno-san!" The young man exclaimed, smiling kindly. "Would you like me to help you with that?"

"Oh, no, it's alright." Mebuki replied, shaking her head and attempting to flap a hand in dismissal. She didn't succeed very well because of the burden she was carrying—it was a fat clay pot that smelled really, really good. "How can you, anyway, dear? You can't exactly leave my daughter's side, and Kami help you if you do."

I slid my hand down Shisui's elbow to give him some leverage, and watched him go through lightning-quick hand seals. His fingers blurred as he lined up his forefinger with his thumb, and then twisted his hands to form something else, and—I looked away and shook my head.

I felt slightly awed, seeing it performed so close, and had to ask myself how he managed to prevent breaking his own fingers at such a break-neck execution of seals. Maybe it was a ninja thing.

With a small poof, an exact copy of him appeared to his right. Wordlessly, it went up to a startled Mebuki and took the pot from her slackened hands, relieving her of her heavy bag and purse as well.

"I—that's...thank you, Uchiha-san." Mebuki stammered, blinking out of her stupor. She hesitantly spoke to the clone, wondering if it could understand her, judging from the terribly uncertain look on her face. "Put the pot on top of the rags I brought. They're in my bag, yes, thank you again." Fussily, she joined the clone and began to bring out bowls and chopsticks. "I forgot about your ninja abra-cadabra there. Very useful."

"It's my pleasure to help, Ma'am." Shisui said, tipping his head. I squeezed his arm and told him, "That was cool."

He winked and flashed a thumbs-up. I covered my mouth and began to softly laugh.

"I hope you've not been giving my daughter any ideas, Uchiha-san," Mebuki began with a deceptively light-hearted tone. It was a warning. "She's quite set to becoming a doctor already."

If I wasn't what I was—an older, partly prophetic entity masquerading as a young girl—I was absolutely certain I wouldn't be too far off from my present personality. The natural actress part _had_ to come from Mebuki.

Shisui's smile remained. "She'd make a wonderful doctor." He commented neutrally.

"I don't know about that," I interrupted. "I have a terrible bedside manner." I blurted out. A strange look passed on Mebuki's face, before she shook her head and opened the pot. The delicious smell of egg-soup hit my nose, and I sighed. "Heavenly." I murmured, making a grabbing motion. "Oka-san, I'm hungry."

"Now, that won't do, will it?" She asked teasingly, pouring a generous serving into one bowl and handing it over to me. I accepted it with a pleased warble, and Shisui's clone handed me the Japanese version of a spoon. Humming to myself, I expertly fed myself with one hand, dipping the utensil into the thick, creamy soup.

Mebuki gave Shisui a bowl of his own, and, after the clone dispelled, the three of us began to eat. Shisui must have felt very awkward, judging by his silence and too-polite responses, but Mebuki filled the silence as she spoke about her day. I helped her along with harmless descriptions of my own experiences bedridden in Konoha Hospital.

A nurse entered, did her job while I remained as still as possible, behaving like I was expected to, and she left soon after after making small talk with Mebuki. Mebuki made herself comfortable on the seat opposite of Shisui—it was her turn to spend the night with Shisui and me. Tomorrow it would be Kizashi.

I didn't blame them for being so attentive—even I wouldn't allow a theoretical only daughter to spend the night alone with an older man, even if he had saved her life.

"Some of your friends dropped by, Sakura-chan." Mebuki suddenly began, smiling.

I perked up. "Who?"

She began listing off names. A whole class of upperclassmen from school, Jou, Ren, and Zakari, some teachers. There were more, but she couldn't remember them all.

"You're very popular, Sakura-chan." Shisui was commenting, but I could barely hear him over the buzzing of my ears. I clutched my chest and looked down on my lap, clenching my hand over his.

I felt...warm? Pleased? -that they had come and asked after me. True, none of them knew me very well to the extent that I would call them true friends, but they had cared.

The corners of my lips began to tug up. Flushing, I ducked my head and tucked a strand of pink hair behind the shell of my ear. "Please pass along my gratitude to them, Oka-san." I mumbled, pink-cheeked. I was embarrassed by the attention, but was pleased at the same time. The thought that they were worried about me made my heart flutter.

Shisui was squinting at me. I gave him a stubborn look. "What?" I demanded wryly, smile falling away.

He scratched the back of his head. "Maa," he started. "I don't see why many mistake you for a boy, Sakura-chan. Your smile...it..." He paused, and shook his head. "Never mind."

"You were going to say something cheesy, weren't you, Shisui-san?"

"I wasn't! Honestly, I wasn't!"

* * *

"This is not going the way you wanted to."

"No...not really. I underestimated his loneliness. But it doesn't matter. Shisui is enough."

"Shisui doesn't have much longer. Sasuke Uchiha is _eight_."

The voice is firm. "Shisui is enough."


End file.
